


All That's Good

by messageredacted



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There aren’t enough people fighting on the side of good in Gotham, and Brian Douglas knows that Batman needs help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Good

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 20 April 2009.

Petey thinks the television is sending him messages when he’s sleeping nowadays. Used to be he was the smart one, the one everyone expected to go far, but now he keeps the television wrapped in tin foil most of the time and keeps the plug sitting in a pan of water to keep it from getting any ideas about turning itself back on after he shuts it off. It leaches into his dreams, Petey says, and then it takes those dreams and turns them into television shows and so whenever he’s sitting there watching it he has this incredible sense of déjà vu because he’s _dreamed it all before_.

He still watches it, though.

Brian lives with him now, since Petey can’t be trusted to always turn the gas off on the stove or take out the trash when it starts to overflow or flush the toilet when it starts to get rank. Petey seems grateful most of the time, although sometimes he just seems annoyed that Brian is in his way, messing up his routines, making him eat three meals a day and wash his clothes once in a while. Sometimes Brian forgets that he’s supposed to be the younger brother. Petey was always the one who took care of _him_ , not the other way around.

The television is on now and Petey is squatting in front of it, a spoon hanging out of his mouth, a forgotten cup of yogurt in his hand. The show is a M*A*S*H rerun and Petey is staring at it as if it is divine prophecy.

“It’s really a propaganda bomb,” Petey mutters, taking the spoon out of his mouth and gesturing at the screen. “I know it is. I know it is.”

“We used to watch this together,” Brian says, picking up a piece of paper from the floor. “Remember?”

Petey doesn’t say anything. The paper in Brian’s hand is a grocery list from last year, back when Petey went grocery shopping, before he worked late that night in the Narrows when Gotham went crazy. Brian tosses it into the trash.

##

The guys get together most nights after work now at the bar on 37th. Brian used to feel guilty about having a drink with the guys after work when he knows Petey’s home with the nurse, but after the first few months of taking care of Petey, he realized that he had to get some time on his own or he’d go insane.

“It’s a damn shame what this city has come to,” Greg is saying, nursing a Coors. “I mean sure, the corruption was bad before, but at least you knew where you stood, right? Things were the same all the time. Now we get these crazies.” He glances at Brian. “No offense—I don’t mean like your brother. I mean like these people dressing up in costumes. The Batman, the Scarecrow. There was a guy in the papers today for murder who was calling himself the Joker. I mean, come on.”

“The Batman is gone,” Adam argues. “He hasn’t been seen for months. At least he was doing something good when he was here.”

Greg shrugs. “That spotlight is still up in the sky.”

“So they’re calling him. Doesn’t mean he’s answering.” Adam shakes his head. “I wish he was.”

“Before him, we didn’t have _any_ guys running around in masks. If he’d never shown up, we wouldn’t be having these problems.”

“No, because we’d all have gone crazy when the Scarecrow poisoned the water supply last year,” Brian interrupts. Adam and Greg glance at him uncomfortably but Brian ignores it. “Batman stopped it before it could spread.”

“He should have stopped it earlier,” Greg says mulishly.

“He’s only one man,” Adam says, looking back and forth between Greg and Brian.

Greg snorts. “Yeah, and we don’t even know who he is. He won’t take off that mask.”

“That’s the point.” Brian jams a finger into the tabletop. “He could be anyone. It doesn’t matter who he is. He’s a symbol. You see that spotlight in the sky and you feel safer, right? Even though he might not be out there. He’s showing us that anyone can fight crime.”

“So are you Batman, then?” Greg smirks at him and lifts his beer to his lips.

“Could be,” Brian says with a shrug. “So could you.”

##

At first he thinks it’s Petey screaming in the hallway but when Brian gets to the top of the stairs he sees a stranger curled up against a door, scratching frantically at his arms.

“Get them off me get them off me get them off me,” he’s begging, his face wet with tears. He’s scratching at track marks. Brian steps around him and goes to the apartment.

“Not a good day today,” the nurse, Mary, confides to him when he arrives. “Petey’s upset by the man in the hallway. I called the super but he’s not around.”

“Thanks,” Brian says, taking off his coat. Mary gathers up her things and leaves, and Brian heads into the living room. “Hey there, Petey. How’s things?”

Petey is crouched in front of the television again. “It’s too loud,” he says. “Can’t hear the television. Too loud.”

Brian picks up the cordless telephone and goes back to the door to the apartment. The kid is still there, crying and muttering to himself. Brian dials 911.

“Hi, I’ve got a kid here in my hallway who looks like he’s having a bad reaction to some drugs or something. I’m afraid he might hurt himself,” Brian says when they answer.

“We’ll send someone right over,” says the dispatcher. Brian moves out into the hall and stands over the kid, looking down at him.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m calling for help. They’re going to be here soon.”

The kid rolls his eyes up to look at Brian. “Bats,” he says. “They’re all over me. Bats.” The waver in his voice makes Brian think of Petey talking about the television.

“They’ll be here soon.” Brian squats down. “It’s going to be okay.”

The kid flails out a hand and Brian catches it in his own. The hand is damp but Brian grips it tightly, trying to look reassuring. The kid tips back his head and stares at the ceiling, still crying but no longer muttering to himself. Brian can hear the television going inside his apartment. He waits there until the medics arrive.

##

Petey used to be an amateur hockey player. He and some of his friends would get together on Saturdays to play hockey at the rink. He hasn’t gone since the incident but his hockey pads are still in the closet, buried under an avalanche of dirty clothes.

Brian straps them on and stares at himself in the mirror. He has black sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and with the hockey pads and black sneakers he kind of looks the part. All he needs is a mask, but he knows that the novelty stores have been selling latex Batman masks for months now, since the incident. He could play the part. The only part of himself that will be visible is the square of his somewhat weak jaw, but no one will be able to tell who he is from that.

##

It’s harder to keep to the shadows than Brian had thought. Sure, there are dark alleyways and the like, but getting from one to the next without stepping under streetlights or moving by bright storefronts is nearly impossible. Also, there are so many people out in the city. He moves with the mask under his arm for a while, trying to look inconspicuous.

It is entirely by accident that he comes across the mugging. He sees the two young women strolling down a side street chatting together, and sees the three shadows detach themselves from a wall and start after them. Brian yanks his mask over his head, spends a few blind seconds fumbling the eyeholes into place, then charges after them. He hears one of the girls scream and sees one of the men holding out a knife and talking fast.

“Stop!” he shouts, trying to make his voice loud and commanding, as he imagines Batman’s voice is. “Stop right there, you…evildoer….”

The muggers take one look at him and book it down the street. The two girls clutch at each other and back away from him.

“It’s okay,” he says to them, his heart thundering in his chest so hard that he can barely get the words past. “It’s okay. I’m Batman.”

##

“What were you going to do if they didn’t run?” Greg asks incredulously. They’re in the bar again after work the next day.

Brian has been floating on an adrenaline buzz for pretty much the last eighteen hours, but Greg’s question makes him deflate a little. “I, uh,” says Brian. “Would beat them up.”

“But you said they had a knife, right?” Adam butts in. “Did you have a knife?”

This isn’t exactly going the way he’d expected it. “I used to take karate. I think I can handle a couple _muggers_.”

Greg laughs out loud. “Yeah, what, when you were fifteen? You’re forty, Brian. You couldn’t take _me_ in a fight.”

“Wanna bet?” Brian asks sourly.

“What you need is a gun,” Adam suggests. “You weren’t that bad of a shot when we went to the shooting range a couple months ago.”

“I don’t own a gun. I don’t even have a license.”

“I’ve got a couple,” Greg says thoughtfully. “I go up to the range every weekend.”

“Can I borrow one?” Brian asks.

“The shotgun, maybe.” Greg is still staring into space. “I wouldn’t trust you with the assault rifle. I’ll use that one.”

“You?” Brian and Adam say in unison.

“I thought you said we could all be Batman,” Greg asks casually, shrugging.

##

Later, Brian would be surprised by how it escalates, but at the time it seems perfectly normal. It goes from flushing perverts out of the bushes at the park, to paying a visit to Greg’s asshole abusive brother-in-law to scare him straight, to interrupting a drug deal that nearly gets Adam shot. Adam buys a police scanner and they sit in his car and listen to it so they can respond to crimes as soon as they happen. They save some kids from a burning building before the firefighters arrive.

In the drug deal that nearly gets Adam shot, they discover that the Scarecrow is supplying the drugs. Brian thinks of the kid in his hallway, screaming and scratching his arms, and he feels a flush of anger. That fucking psycho is ruining lives just for his own amusement. Brian knows that the Scarecrow is really the only reason that he even started doing this whole crime-fighting thing. If it weren’t for the Scarecrow, Petey would be normal.

They hear a rumor that the Scarecrow is going to meet up with a guy called the Chechen in a parking garage on Wednesday night. Rumor has it that it’s the Chechen’s dealers who have been selling the Scarecrow’s bad drugs.

“Maybe we should sit this one out,” Adam says nervously, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of his car. Brian pulls the mask over his head.

“The Scarecrow is going to be there,” Brian says.

Adam gives him a look. “Yeah, exactly,” he says unhappily. He takes in Brian’s expression and looks resigned.

“Time to go,” Greg says, and they get out of the car.

Adam and Greg take the west staircase and Brian takes the east, climbing slow and quiet to the fourth floor.

When he arrives, Brian waits in the stairwell. He has Greg’s shotgun, which he holds against his thigh, his palms sweaty. He can see the side of a black SUV and the backs of two bodyguards, both holding automatic weapons. There is a man on the ground, writhing like the kid in Brian’s hallway. Another victim of the Scarecrow.

“I told you my compound would take you places. I never said they’d be places you wanted to go,” says a smug, reasonable voice on the other side of the SUV, twenty feet away. Brian has never heard the Scarecrow talk before but he knows that’s him—slightly muffled from behind the mask.

“My business is repeat customers!” exclaims someone else in irritation. Brian can see the man’s thin shoulders as he gestures towards the man on the ground. From his accent, Brian guesses he is the Chechen.

Brian creeps along the shadows where he can get a better vantage of the scene. He sees a white van in the corner and yes, there’s the Scarecrow.

“If you don't like what I have to offer, you can buy from someone else. Assuming Batman left anyone to buy from.”

Brian’s foot scrapes the ground and suddenly there are dogs barking. He freezes and now he can see them, two, three, four of them? The Chechen spins around nervously, searching for him.

“My dogs are _hungry_!” the Chechen shouts, still looking. He turns towards where Brian is standing in the shadows and then stops, his cheeks folding into a smirk. “Pity there’s only _one_ of you.”

Someone lets out a choked-off shout and everyone’s attention turns abruptly towards the white van. Adam, Brian guesses.

Another shout, and Brian turns in time to see Greg pitch a man over the railing. The dogs are silent now and the men are looking shocked. Now is the time. Brian raises his shotgun.

A window in the black SUV bursts and everyone ducks, scattering. Brian snarls to himself, jacking out the shell. He had been aiming for the Chechen.

“That’s not him,” the Scarecrow says in disappointment. Automatic gunfire stutters—that’s Greg again. Brian advances, letting off two more shots at the Chechen.

“Loose the dogs!” the Chechen screams frantically. Brian barely has time to react when a dark, slavering shape launches itself towards him.

The thing snarls, getting a mouthful of Brian’s arm. He hears Adam scream but he doesn’t have time to look and see if it’s bullets or dogs that got him—he’s too busy kicking at the dog, trying to yank his arm out of the thing’s vice-like grip. It’s snarling, loud as a motorcycle, and then there’s a crash and an increase in gunfire and he realizes it’s not the dog; it’s another vehicle. Someone else has arrived.

He manages to get the gun up and pulls the trigger, punching red mist into the air. The dog goes limp, rolling off him, and he staggers to his feet as an explosion rocks the garage. One of the SUVs squeals into reverse. The Chechen is yanking open the door on the other SUV. Brian steps towards him, aiming the shotgun. He’s not going to get the window this time.

Something grabs the end of his shotgun and bends the whole barrel down. Brian has time to gape at the dark shape—bat ears, strong chin, grimace—before a fist collides with his jaw with such force that he drops to the pavement, stunned.

He clutches his face, feeling his jaw throb. There is screaming, shouting, dogs barking, gunfire, squealing tires. He doesn’t know who’s winning. Is Greg okay? Is Adam?

A dark shape flickers at the edge of his vision and he lifts his head. Batman—the real Batman, the original—moves with steady grace to the railing. Brian can hear the fading squeal of a vehicle going down the ramp but there’s no way down from there, just a three story drop. Batman climbs up onto the railing and looks down, calm and patient.

Then he drops.

Brian sucks in a breath, waiting for the sound of flesh hitting concrete. Instead it’s a crash of metal and glass and he closes his eyes, trying not to picture the scene in his head. No man could survive a drop from that height. At least not without injury. And that’s what Batman is, right? A man?

##

There is a zip tie around Brian’s wrists, holding them behind his back. The Scarecrow is pressed against him thigh to shoulder, as if they’re both equal, as if they’re both criminals.

Batman stops in front of the Scarecrow and yanks off his mask, revealing a youngish man with tousled brown hair and fever-bright eyes. Batman meets his gaze, impassive, then turns to Brian.

“Don’t let me find you out here again,” he snarls in a voice that is nothing like what Brian imagined—not heroic and strong but rough and raspy. He stands, turning away.

“We’re trying to help you!” Brian shouts after him indignantly.

Batman leaps onto the hood of his tank as the cockpit opens. “I don’t need help,” he snarls over his shoulder.

“Not in my diagnosis,” calls the Scarecrow with a smirk.

“What gives you the right?” Brian shouts, furious now. “What’s the difference between you and me?”

Batman settles into the driver’s seat. “I’m not wearing hockey pads,” he returns, the cockpit closing around him.

##

“I’m not doing this anymore, man,” Adam says tearfully, staring up into the ceiling of the ambulance. His eyes are flickering over the ceiling like there’s something up there that he doesn’t want to focus on. He says the Scarecrow sprayed something in his face. The paramedics have already given Adam a shot that they say is the antidote but Adam still shakes with the aftereffects of terror.

“We did good,” Brian says roughly, feeling guilty. The paramedic is bandaging his shoulder where the dog’s teeth broke the skin.

“No, God, Brian, we didn’t. You got attacked by dogs. Greg looked really bad. You don’t even— you don’t even know—” Adam sucks in a breath, trembling. Brian doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t want to see Petey in his eyes.

##

They release Brian on bail because he has to take care of Petey. He knows that he’s going to serve some jail time for this but he’s willing to do it. Vigilantism is a crime. If he’s going to fight crime, he can’t expect to avoid the consequences of his own law-breaking.

Greg spends three days in the hospital with his injuries. The dogs mauled him pretty good. Adam gets to go home but he doesn’t answer his phone when Brian calls.

Petey doesn’t even seem to notice that anything has happened. He complains that he should be getting royalties from Fox since they stole all his dreams to make their television shows, but otherwise he doesn’t acknowledge Brian at all. Brian cooks them dinner, favoring his sore shoulder.

“How was your day?” Brian asks him, handing him a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Petey takes it automatically and holds it, staring at the television.

“Five million dollars,” Petey says. “I should have that. That’s how much they should pay me.”

“That’s nice.” Brian sits down on the couch with his own bowl. He thinks of Adam, rolling around on the ground clawing at his face. He got the antidote in time and it’s not permanent. He’s going to be okay. The Scarecrow is back in Arkham now, and won’t be hurting anyone else. Things worked out in the end.

“I could buy so many televisions,” Petey whispers.

##

He’s sentenced to eighteen months of community service. It makes him laugh because it was community service that got him into this in the first place. He agrees to never touch a gun again. He also agrees not to wear a mask or try to fight crime. He has to check in with his parole officer every week. If they catch him breaking his parole, he’s back in jail for the remainder of his time.

Greg and Adam get similar sentences, and to top it off, they’re not allowed to hang out together after work anymore. Brian has to go straight home from work and after the first week it starts to grate on him.

One night Petey urinates over all of the clean laundry in the basket and Brian has to get up at three in the morning and do all the laundry again so he’ll have clothes for work in the morning. He shouts at Petey then, and he’s not proud of it. It’s not Petey’s fault, he tells himself as he stands in the basement of the apartment building, waiting for the dryer to finish. Petey’s innocent. It’s the scum of the earth who walk the streets of Gotham and think they can do what they want that caused this. Those vile people who think they can use the honest, hardworking citizens of Gotham as pawns in their stupid games.

Sure, the Scarecrow is in Arkham, at least for now. That Harvey Dent guy has been putting some of those mob lowlifes like the Chechen in jail. Things are working out, but it’s not enough. What happened to Petey happened because there weren’t enough people fighting on the side of good in Gotham. Sure, being a vigilante is a crime. But the sanctioned police officers in this city aren’t doing fuck all to stop these costumed criminals. Sometimes someone has to sink down to their level to fight them.

##

The next night, after Petey has gone to bed and the streets are quiet, Brian goes out again. He pulls on the black sweats and the hockey pads and puts the mask under his arm. He slips out of his apartment and starts to walk.

He walks six blocks before he pulls on the mask. The spotlight is in the sky again, an amorphous blob moving across the bulky clouds. That other man might be out or he might not, but even if he’s not, Batman is out tonight.

Brian moves through the shadows for a few more blocks, listening for distant screams or sirens. There are neither of those, but then suddenly he can hear someone whistling up ahead.

The City Hall is dark and a shape is moving down the front steps, taking the stairs two at a time. In the slant of light from the nearest streetlight Brian can see that he’s wearing a light-colored suit, although the exact color is hard to tell in the darkness. Someone working late? But the building is dark and this person is moving quickly and there is a black van parked with two tires up on the curb. A burglar?

He has no gun since the arrest, but he has a kitchen knife in his pocket, so he takes it out and gets a good grip on it before he steps out of the shadows. “Stop, thief,” he bellows. It’s not Batman’s voice but he doesn’t care.

The man stops two steps from the bottom, his face snapping towards Brian. Brian stops a few feet away, his knife out. They both stare at each other. The man is smiling at him impossibly wide, and Brian realizes things in a series of steps: the smile is wide because it’s painted on; it’s painted on because the man is the Joker; the Joker has a gun.

The Joker shoots.

Brian huffs, bending over. The bulletproof vest that he’s wearing stops the bullet from penetrating his flesh but it still hits him with all of its kinetic energy like a punch in the stomach. The Joker pulls the trigger three more times, then hops down the last two steps and drills his knee into Brian’s face. Brian drops to his knees, gasping for air, his diaphragm frozen. The Joker grabs a hold of his mask and yanks it off. Brian’s hair fuzzes around his head. The Joker pressed the gun against Brian’s forehead.

“For a second there I was disappointed,” the Joker says. “Thought things were just a _little_ too easy. But no.” He makes a short, sharp gesture with the gun. “Get up.”

Brian staggers to his feet. The Joker puts a hand on his shoulder and propels him to the van. “We’re going for a ride.”

##

The video starts.

There are slabs of meat hanging around him, raw bloodless cuts of muscle laddered with ribs. Brian keeps his head down, squinting. His face feels like it’s one big bruise.

“Tell them your name,” the Joker instructs Brian as if he’s speaking to a child.

“Brian Douglas,” Brian says quietly, trying to control the tremble in his voice.

The Joker giggles as if that’s somehow funny and brings the camera in close. He moves with all of his weight on the balls of his feet, hovering with manic energy. He’s grinning with yellowed teeth.

“Are you the _real_ Batman?” he asks giddily.

“No.”

“No?” the Joker exclaims in mock surprise and hilarity, wheezing with laughter. “No? Then why do you _dress up_ like him?” He yanks the mask off Brian’s head and the cold air of the refrigerated room hits Brian’s sweaty skin.

Brian keeps his head down, his eyes lowered, as the Joker jerks the mask around in front of the camera, laughing.

“He's a symbol—” he chokes out, “—that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you.”

The mask slaps to the floor and the Joker is close to him again, his gloved hand squeezing Brian’s cheek. “Yeah,” he sighs affectionately. “You do, Brian. You _really_ do.”

He shakes Brian’s head viciously, then rubs the back of his hand down Brian’s cheek as Brian involuntarily lets out a whimper. “Oh, shush. So you think Batman’s made Gotham a better place? Hmm?” He backs away from Brian, bringing up the camera. “Look at me,” the Joker instructs breathlessly.

Brian keeps his head down, his eyes closed, afraid to look in the camera. This is going to go on television. Petey is going to watch this. Will Petey feel like he’s seen this before? Is Petey dreaming this now?

“ _Look at me_!” the Joker roars in fury and Brian looks up, startled. The Joker swings the camera around to point at his own face, so close that the image must be a blur. He spins in a slow circle.

“You see this is how _crazy_ Batman’s made Gotham. You want order in Gotham? Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.” He licks his lips. “Oh, and every day he doesn’t…people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my _word_.”

The tape ends in static.

##

“He’s not going to take off his mask,” Brian says, his eyes squeezed shut, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. He can feel his clothes soaked through with cold sweat. He doesn’t want to see that face anymore.

“He will,” the Joker says, grabbing his arm and rolling him onto his back. Brian opens his eyes when the Joker straddles him, but the fluorescent lights are too bright and all he can see is a blur. The Joker grabs his chin and wipes something soft and greasy across Brian’s cheeks. Paint.

“He won’t,” Brian says, hearing his voice go high with fear but unable to stop himself. “He’s a symbol of all that’s good in Gotham. He’ll do what’s right.”

“He’s not a symbol,” the Joker hisses, letting going of his cheeks and reaching for something else. “He’s just a man, and I’m going to make everyone see it.”

“No,” Brian says. “He’s a symbol, and he can never die.”

The Joker’s hand closes over his neck, thin fingers digging into the flesh there and squeezing tight. “Everything dies.”

“Kill me,” Brian gasps with the last of his air. “Kill him. You’re not killing Batman. Batman will always exist.”

“You people make me sick,” the Joker says furiously. “I’m going to take off his mask and show _everyone_ how human he really is. He’s no different from _me_.”

Brian’s vision is tunneling and now all he can see is the Joker’s angry mouth, and he wants to say _No, you don’t understand, Batman is more than that_ , but he can’t say anything anymore. It doesn’t matter

The Joker will find out.


End file.
